


still feeling the waves when you go to bed

by apollothyme, thesilverwitch



Series: comet observatory medley [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Barebacking, First Time, Invasion of Privacy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Sex Tapes, This fic is ridiculous and kind of crack but for the most part it's just innocent fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverwitch/pseuds/thesilverwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carvajal rolls his eyes at him. “Toni seems like the type who only does it in the missionary position with the lights off. Not to badmouth him or anything,” Carvajal hastily adds. “He just gives those vibes, you know?”</p><p>Earlier that day, Toni ordered Isco to hold his hands behind his back while he fucked Isco’s face until Isco had tears on the brim of his eyes and came inside his boxers. So no, Isco doesn’t know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	still feeling the waves when you go to bed

The first thing Isco does when he sees Toni’s plane has landed is send Toni a text. It reads ‘you should come over’ and Isco would worry about coming off as too demanding if he didn’t know Toni frowned at unnecessary pleasantries the same way he did.

Toni’s reply is near instantaneous. ‘1 uhr’ flashes on Isco’s screen. It’s past midnight and Isco can already picture Toni, all sleep-addled as he blinks at his phone. He must have scratched his brain for the Spanish word for ‘hour’ and given up when the answer took longer than five seconds to present itself. Toni doesn’t do jet lag, for lack of a better way to put it. He rebels against it, as if it's possible to rebel against the way your own body can’t meet a new sleeping schedule. He always stays awake for too long and refuses to admit he’s tired. 

Isco already has a cup of hot chocolate waiting for him by the time the doorbell rings, exactly one hour and three minutes after he got Toni’s text.

It’s bitterly cold outside, so much so that the second Isco opens the door Toni marches right inside. His hands are hidden in his armpits and there’s a large, ugly beanie covering his blonde hair.

“How was your flight?” Isco asks as he takes in the rest of Toni’s appearance. 

The cursory bags underneath his eyes are there and his smile when he sees Isco takes a while to come, but other than that he looks happy. International breaks are good for him. Isco knows Toni likes Madrid, likes Spain, but he also knows what it is like to miss home. The ache must be even bigger for Toni, who, added to the change in trading club and country for Madrid, also has to translate everything he says before uttering the words.

Although, with all that said, Toni's Spanish has advanced much faster than the rest of their international teammates. It’s no surprise, of course, at least not to Isco, who knows how many nerve cells are constantly at work behind Toni’s sharp eyes.

“Good. I managed to fall asleep before Sami started snoring.”

“A true victory.” Isco’s eyes are full of mirth and they betray the rest of him, which is trying not to laugh. 

“I bet you’ve never shared a bedroom with him,” Toni says, rolling his eyes at him.

Isco shrugs, going for nonchalant. He turns around and walks to the living room. “I’d rather share with you,” he says.

They haven’t done this before. The flirting. It's all new, but it feels natural, like the next step in their relationship. Isco hasn’t stopped thinking about Toni for the entirety of their time spent apart. He’s played and replayed their first kiss so many times in his head that the motions have since dissolved and melted into a whole new array of thoughts and images.

There was a night, when he was alone in his hotel bedroom, where he almost called Toni to ask what he was wearing before his dignity caught up with him. He and Toni hadn't talked much during the break. A few texts here and there, enough to remind the other they were still there. Isco would have started second-guessing himself if this were anyone else. Spending a night making out with a close friend and colleague, then not seeing them for a whole week? It’s a recipe for trouble; a surefire way to get a person to doubt themselves and start analyzing a good relationship with a cynical eye.

Only it’s not anyone else. So.

Isco isn’t worried.

“That’s good, because there’s no way I’m taking a second cab home tonight,” Toni says. He follows Isco into the living room and accepts the hot chocolate with a grateful smile when Isco hands it to him.

“I’m a good host. I would have given you one of the guest bedrooms.”

Isco has his own mug of hot chocolate in his left hand. He sneaks the right underneath Toni’s shirt and leaves it on top of Toni’s hip.

Toni makes a small cooing noise, pretending to be surprised. “Such kindness,” he says through a yawn, ruining the biting effect of his words.

One of the first things Isco found out about Toni was that beneath the reticent exterior was a sarcastic little shit, who Isco absolutely _adored_. Toni and Isco’s mutual love for a little banter was one of the reasons they got along so well.

Despite being aware of this fact, every time Toni makes a comment a scathing comment—always looking genuine and honest in contrast to his mocking words—Isco can’t help but revel in it, as if he didn’t know Toni could be like this.

Isco has never been too specific about the type of people he likes. A good body and a nice face, regardless of gender or sex, will often be enough for him. He does have a preference, however, for people who can match him in terms of wit. He’s always fancied the idea of dating his best friend, a partner in crime, someone who can, and will, match him at every step.

“Someone’s tired,” Isco strokes Toni’s skin. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“I just got here,” Toni protests, but he lets himself be led without resisting. He didn’t bring a bag with him, so Isco gives him a clean t-shirt and some sweats to sleep in.

“I’m not going to kick you out when you wake up.” Isco puts on a faded shirt himself, with a Captain America print in the front, and doesn’t bother with pants. He goes on the search for a clean toothbrush to give Toni.

“But we have training in the morning.”

“So?” Isco asks, hunched in front of the cabinet beneath his bathroom’s sink. He pushes a few toilet paper rolls out of the way until he finds the promised toothbrush and resurfaces triumphant.

“So I’ve missed you,” Toni pulls Isco up and wraps himself around Isco’s back. His hands go straight to the bottom of Isco’s shirt and do not hesitate to lift it past Isco’s shoulders. “A lot.”

They’re standing in front of the mirror, so there’s not a detail Isco misses. He watches Toni duck his head until he can reach Isco’s neck with his mouth and leave a trail of ghost kisses there. He watches Toni’s hands, which seem to spawn Isco’s entire chest, leave white lines as they run down Isco’s ribs. He watches himself and sees how he instinctively arches into Toni when Toni thrusts his hips against his ass, how his chest is already moving faster and there’s a faint blush on the top of his cheeks.

When they kiss, it’s at an awkward angle, with Toni’s hand guiding Isco’s jaw until their lips meet. Toni is the one to open Isco’s mouth and devour it whole. Isco’s body thrums with nervous energy and the only thought in his head is _finally_.

Alright, so maybe he had worried, the smallest amount, about how things between them would be like when Toni returned.

He forgets about those worries as Toni pushes both their pants down. He makes Isco lean down far enough for it to be easier for Toni to press against him, but not so low that Isco can no longer watch their reflections on the mirror.

The sex is messy. Toni uses hand-soap to reduce the friction. Isco thinks maybe he’ll use it for something else, but Toni won’t move past rutting against him and jerking him off at the same pace, which is delicious, don’t get him wrong. Isco just wants more.

“You should fuck me,” Isco says. He makes sure he’s holding eye contact through the mirror as he speaks. His voice is a misery already, raspy and threatening to break at the edge of every syllable. He sounds like he had been sucking Toni dry the minute before, and not panting like his breath was being pulled out of him by Toni’s restrained movements.

He can already imagine how it will feel like when Toni fucks him. Toni will take his time opening him because he’s nothing if not attentive and a lover of teasing. He’ll make Isco beg, which Isco will gladly do. Toni will ignore Isco’s begging until he, himself, can’t wait any longer and it will only be then, after he’s taken his sweet time, that he’ll slip inside Isco.

It will hurt. Regardless of how much prep he gets, Isco’s seen Toni naked enough times in the showers to know a dick like that will have him limping the next morning.

Toni will pause when he sees Isco gasp in something other than pleasure, because he might be a sarcastic tease, but there’s not a bone of cruelty in his body. Isco will have to assure him that he’s fine, that he likes it, that he wants it, and then Toni will fuck him until he forgets how to speak.

“I’m a bit too tired for that, don’t you think?” Toni asks. As he speaks, he nudges Isco’s legs open wider and leans down on Isco’s back so that there’s not a centimeter of space between them. His hand over Isco’s cock speeds up. Isco sees stars.

“Asshole,” he grits out just as Toni bites the space where Isco’s neck meets his shoulder and he comes. Toni follows him over the edge a few seconds afterwards. He comes all over Isco’s back, with a hand on Isco’s hair making sure he watches.

“And here I was, thinking our first time would be super romantic and you’d be acting all shy and virgin-like, while I showed you how good I could make you feel,” Isco muses once they’re in bed. Toni is on his back. Isco is using him as a pillow.

“Did you really?” Toni asks. There’s a note of hesitancy there, an uncommon occurrence for him. It’s not often you see Toni Kroos express doubt.

Isco snorts. “Nah, I always knew you’d be the manhandling type. Quiet on the outside, sex maniac on the inside.”

“Any complaints?” Toni asks into the still darkness of Isco’s room. Isco doesn’t doubt for a second that Toni would let him reverse their roles and do whatever he wanted were he to ask.

“I’m good,” Isco replies.

* * *

The rest of the team knows they are together.

Both Isco and Toni are fine with the team knowing about them. This is the type of secret you take to the grave if you have to. A cross your heart and hope to die kind of deal. Even if something does get out, the right amount of pressure and money can discredit anyone.

How they know, it must be said, is a mystery. Telepathic reading, a shift in their mannerisms or a telling comment they accidentally let slip are all valid options. As far as Isco is aware, their relationship hasn’t changed much. There’s the obscene amount of sex, of course, but they’re usually smart enough to do that in the privacy of their homes or, when they’re too impatient, behind locked doors.

Still, somehow, the team knows and, as a result, a few changes to the team's dynamics have occurred. He always rooms with Toni on away games now, the lewd jokes in their presence have seen a two hundred percent increase and the winking three hundred percent.

Occasionally, there’s the rare, “so, what’s he like in bed?” line of query by one of their more open-minded teammates, which Isco wouldn’t even blink an eye at were it not followed by— “He’s really vanilla, isn’t he?”

Isco freezes. “Come again?”

Carvajal rolls his eyes at him. “Toni. He seems like the type who only does it in the missionary position with the lights off. Not to badmouth him or anything,” Carvajal hastily adds. “He just gives those vibes, you know?”

Earlier that day, Toni ordered Isco to hold his hands behind his back while he fucked Isco’s face until Isco had tears on the brim of his eyes and came inside his boxers. So no, Isco doesn’t know.

“I guess,” Isco says, agreeing to the latter statement. He hasn’t fallen for Toni’s pretend doe-eyed innocence in a long time, but he can see how people who don’t know him that well would think that. “Our sex life is fine, though, no need to worry about it.”

Carvajal laughs, as boisterous as he can be, and claps Isco on the back. Something near the goal catches his attention and Carvajal moves along to do some drill exercises with Sergio and Marcelo. 

Isco watches him go and only brings it up with Toni later, when it’s just the two of them, Toni’s couch, and the newest episode of Game of Thrones on television.

“They think we have boring sex,” Isco mentions, throwing it out there as casual as can be.

“Who does?” Toni is scrolling through Twitter on his phone while Bran becomes a tree on television, because he’s a Olly Murs loving heathen with no appreciation for a true classic.

“Everyone in the team, probably. Apparently you ‘give off the vibes’,” Isco says, not skipping out on the air quotes. There’s otherwise no way he can say it seriously.

Toni drops his phone to scratch his chin in apparent thought. His other arm is wrapped around Isco’s shoulders. “Part of me thinks I should be offended, but another part of me likes the thought of having everyone fooled.”

“You should have gone into the crime business,” Isco suggests. “Your doe eyes are the perfect disguise. No one would ever figure you out.”

Isco’s comment distracts them from Game of Thrones and they spend the next hour discussing what their lives would be like as criminals. Toni insists he’d make a good jewelry thief, whereas Isco would be something like a bank robber. Isco thinks he has enough charm to pull off being 007, maybe 008.

Eventually, all the jokes, winks, and comments die down within the team. It’s not too long after when Isco forgets the conversation with Carvajal even happened.

And then the party happens.

They’re celebrating in Benzema’s house, making good use of his pool and his large collection of spirits. They have, as of yesterday, officially won La Liga, after Barcelona lost against Valencia and Real Sociedad in what the media were calling the Great Moyes Slaughter of 2015. Isco thought the name was a bit too much. Toni told him he had no right to speak as someone who owned a dog named ‘Messi’. 

Isco’s wearing the first pair of shorts he found after he got up, which are red, a size too small and cling to his ass like perfection. Toni was going for loose cargo boxers before Isco intercepted him and threw a black trunks at him. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” Isco says, making Toni roll his eyes at him.

“Thank you, mother.”

The party is fun. Isco remembers talking to Iker about where they would like to go on vacation—Iker somewhere as deserted as humanly possible, Isco a road trip through America—and attempting to beat Lucas in a dive bomb competition.

He also remembers the staring.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” Isco whispers. They’re by the indoors bar, which is basically a coffee table covered in spirits. Toni, in true German spirit, is holding a beer.

“Those shorts are too small,” Toni replies, a bit disgruntled. Isco snorts.

“Looked at yourself much lately?” Isco asks. Toni has been staring at him since the party started, but he can rest assured his ogling wasn’t one-sided.

Toni chances a brief glance down and of course Isco’s eyes follow him, past the slant of his collarbones to his perfect washboard abs and trunks that do a pathetic job at hiding Toni’s package. Isco licks his lips at the sight. Sue him. He’s twenty-two and he has a hot boyfriend at his availability. It is a miracle that he’s not salivating right now.

A similar line of thought must be going through Toni’s head, because when he looks up he throws the room a quick glance to make sure no one is paying attention to them. Then he grabs Isco’s wrist and drags him to one of the rooms upstairs.

Isco has to climb the stairs two steps at a time to match Toni’s pace.

Toni pushes him into the first room with an open door. “Seriously? In Benzema’s bedroom?”

Or actually— “I think this is his closet,” Toni thinks out loud. Isco has to agree, unless Benzema happens to sleep in a room with no bed and five hundred pairs of sneakers. Toni pulls him close and kisses him.

“He’s going to kill us if we get cum on any of his clothes,” Isco says between kisses. The response he gets is immediate.

Toni flips Isco around and presses him against the door. Isco’s forehead rests against the wooden surface, but he shifts his face slightly to the left so that he watch Toni move behind him.

“Then we won’t come on any of his clothes,” Toni whispers, pushing the words against the skin of Isco’s neck.

Toni is about to push their shorts down when he pauses, mouth still on Isco’s neck. “I don’t suppose you brought any lube with you, did you?”

Isco groans. “One second.”

He pushes Toni away and cracks the door open wide enough to check there’s no one in the hallway. He thinks about checking Benzema’s bedroom, then decides against it when the thought makes him cringe. A quick look through the cabinets in Benzema’s bathroom provides him with an unopened bottle of lube. Thank god for small mercies.

When he gets back to the closet, Toni is already naked. His trunks have been discarded on the floor and he’s stroking his cock. Isco gets naked and goes back to leaning on the door in record time.

With one hand, Toni grabs Isco’s wrists and holds them above their heads. With the other, he starts opening Isco at a pace even slower and more tortuous than his usual. This is saying a lot considering how fond of taking his time Toni is.

“We’re in a middle of a party, you could do with hurrying up,” Isco gasps after Toni grazes his prostate for what feels like the hundredth fucking time. He has yet to add a third finger.

“Everyone down there is either drunk or on their way to getting drunk. I’m sure they won’t miss us too much,” Toni replies. He bites Isco’s neck and sucks his skin, undoubtedly leaving a hickey everyone will see. The moan that slips out of Isco is involuntary and far, far too loud.

Without warning, Toni adds another finger inside Isco and presses in as deeply as he can, only to still there afterwards. “Not so loud,” he says. Isco swears he can see stars.

“Toni, come on. Just fuck me already,” Isco whispers. Toni starts fingering him again, pulling Isco’s hips against his to make sure there’s no contact between Isco’s dick and the door.

“Not yet,” he hums.

Isco strains against the hold Toni has on him, but Toni’s grip on his wrists is solid. In any case, Isco doesn’t want to move away, doesn’t even want to jerk himself off when he can have Toni’s mouth on him later. He just wants Toni to get a goddamn move on and he’s not above begging to do it.

“Please,” Isco pants. He wishes the breathy undertone in his voice was false. “Please, Toni. Fuck me.” 

He can feel Toni’s grin against his skin. “Alright,” Toni murmurs. It’s all the warning Isco gets before Toni slides in. He definitely sees stars now.

Their sex is never boring or predictable. It mostly depends on their mood. Sometimes, after a good game, Toni fucks him like they’re both starving for it, like there’s nothing else he wants to do but make Isco moan out his name again and again until Isco’s voice has gone hoarse. Other times, he draws it out for so long Isco could swear he’s not even interested. For the most part, though, they have a rhythm Isco already knows by heart.

Toni will start out slow and hard. Their bodies will be glued together, chest pressed to back or face to face. It won’t allow a lot of space for movement, but it will ensure Isco feels everything, from the press of their jointed bodies to the beat of Toni’s heart. As they each get closer to the edge, Toni will lose control and speed things up and Isco will talk, because that’s what he always does.

“Toni, come on, please. I need you. I fucking need you. Just— please—“ he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, what he wants. Toni lets go of Isco’s wrists to grab Isco by the back of the head, pulling him upright with a fist around his hair. The pain that shoots down Isco’s body is irresistible. Isco feels all the hair on his body stand up, electrified. 

“Isco,” Toni says, just once, before he comes inside Isco. 

“Toni,” Isco breathes, begging for release. He won’t touch himself, not even now when his hands are free. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before Toni goes on his knees behind him. Isco’s forehead makes a low ‘thunk’ noise when it hits the door. “Oh my god.”

Toni pauses. “Sorry, sorry,” Isco says, quieter, so that only Toni can hear him. Toni spreads Isco’s asscheeks with his hands and eats him out until Isco comes, his cock untouched, and Isco’s legs give up on him.

“You should have told me you were going to come, I’d have sucked you off. Now there’s cum all over the door,” Toni says.

Isco, who is slumped on the floor, flips him off with a lazy grin on his face. “Deal with it.”

Toni raises himself up and puts on his shorts. He takes a few deep breaths before he nudges Isco out of the way, runs to the bathroom and comes back with toilet paper. They clean the door and leave it ajar for air circulation.

“You’re limping,” Toni tells him as they go down to stairs to rejoin their friends.

“I fell down the stairs on my way to the bathroom earlier. Terrible business.” Isco’s reply is as deadpan as can be. Behind him, Toni chuckles.

Nobody spares them a second glance when they get back to the party and that’s that.

It’s only a full month later, during their summer friendlies, that The Change happens.

It’s hard to describe it. One day everything is fine, the next Benzema, Rapha, Sergio, Iker, Cristiano and Marcelo can’t meet either Isco’s or Toni’s eyes. It’s awkward as hell and so goddamn noticeable too. The six of them start training together, a little away from everyone, and disperse whenever Toni or Isco get near. The few times they don’t manage to run away in time, they stare at everything but Isco’s or Toni’s eyes. 

“Did we do something?” Toni asks one night. They’re lying in bed together while Game of Thrones plays on television. Their dogs are at the foot of the bed, taking up all the space like the lazy farts they are.

“I don’t know, but if this doesn’t stop soon I’m punching someone,” Isco replies. Toni hums in low agreement.

In the end, Isco doesn’t punch anyone, but he does say something.

Yells, actually. 

“Okay!” Isco shouts. It’s just the eight of them in the locker room. He and Toni had asked the others to leave early during practice. “Will someone for the love of god tells us what’s happening?”

The others all stare at them, shuffling from foot to foot. Isco waits for one of them to deny there’s anything is wrong and pretend everything is fine, so he’s surprised when Cristiano breaks the uncomfortable silence and says, “So. There is a video.”

Isco chokes on his own saliva. He closes his eyes. “Please tell me this isn’t about what I’m thinking it’s about,” he asks, partly to his teammates, but more so to god.

“If what you’re thinking about isn’t you and Toni fucking in Benzema’s closet, then this is definitely not about that,” Marcelo replies.

Next to him, Toni make a strangled noise.

“What is happening?” Toni asks, his voice an uncomfortable squeak.

Iker, lovely Iker, their captain Iker, looking like he’d rather be dead than having this conversation Iker, steps up with a sigh. “Long story short, Benzema had a camera installed in his closet because he thought someone was stealing his caps.”

“Someone was,” Benzema mutters, glaring at Rapha, who rolls his eyes at him. Isco can already tell this is an old fight.

“He decided to invite a bunch of us to watch the video of the security footage with the promise of free food in return,” Iker continues and oh. _Oh_. Oh, this is so much worse than anything Isco could have imagined.

“Why?” he still asks, because at least Benzema could have had the decency to watch the footage on his own.

“Witnesses,” Benzema explains, as if it’s that simple. Maybe it is.

“So then you all watched the video.”

“Yes? Initially, we were just gonna watch the first minutes to have something to tease you with. You know, just for a laugh,” says Benzema.

And okay, yes, Isco can see that happening, and he can see how they pretty much walked into the lion’s mouth and asked to be bit by having sex outside in someone else’s home, but _still_. 

“And then, err, you guys—” Cristiano coughs. “Well. Let’s just say none of us saw that one coming.” He’s looking down at the floor and rubbing his nose as he speaks. If Isco were to guess, there is a huge grin behind his hand.

“That DVD. Do you still have it?” Toni asks.

“We burned it,” Benzema mutters.

“We smashed it,” Marcelo says at the same time.

“We smashed it first, then we burned it,” Cristiano explains.

“Look,” this is Sergio speaking. “We’re all sorry. We really thought you were going to turn off the lights at one point. In any case, let this be a lesson about not having sex in other people’s homes.” Isco gapes at him. “Or something.”

Isco stares at all of them—at his friends—who are all looking at the floor like blushing schoolboys and won’t meet his eyes. “Is this going to be a problem?” he asks. He can see where he and Toni are at fault here, but what’s done is done. He doesn’t want this to interfere with team dynamics.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Everyone’s just in shock at seeing this new side of Toni,” says Rapha, who is the least embarrassed looking out of all of them. He smiles, claps Isco and Toni on the back and then moves to leave the room. “Honestly, I think we can all agree that we’ve seen others in more compromising situations at one point or another.”

And with that the awkward spell is broken, and everyone is looking up and laughing. “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve caught Sergio with his hand down his pants,” Iker says before he leaves.

Sergio squawks indignantly and adds, “Look who’s talking!” to which Iker just grins.

“Was that the only place you guys did it?” Benzema asks. Isco nods in reply while Toni examines the ceiling. Benzema gives him a serious nod back. “I’m sorry for accidentally filming you fucking.”

Isco chokes again. It sounds so much worse when he puts it like that. “We’re sorry for having sex in your closet,” Isco manages to get out. He’s having trouble meeting Benzema’s eyes, but he’s happy this at least happened with Benzema, who doesn’t look all that bothered about the people fucking in his house thing.

“Can I just say—“ Marcelo starts, eyes on Toni.

“Please don’t,” Toni asks. Marcelo ignores him.

“I feel like a proud parent?” 

Isco squints. “First of all, ew. Second, how much did you guys watch?” he asks. He has to know.

“Just the first five minutes, then we fast-forwarded it so we could continue searching for the cap thief,” Cristiano says.

When everyone is gone, Toni and Isco stare at each other in silence for a long time before Isco says, “So.”

“So,” Toni repeats. He looks lost for words.

“At least nobody thinks you’re vanilla in bed anymore,” he says. 

“Still not sure whether that was a bad thing or not,” Toni says. He can’t keep a straight face as he speaks and neither can Isco, because honestly, of all the things that could have happened, of all the places they could have been caught having sex in. “I can’t believe we were caught having sex in Benzema’s fucking closet,” Isco says.

“I can’t believe Cristiano Ronaldo saw me having sex,” Toni replies and before they know it, they are laughing until they run out of breath.

And that’s the story of how their teammates couldn’t hold their eyes for a month.


End file.
